A Weekend As Joss Vining
by ECR5
Summary: We spend a Saturday morning with Joss Vining as she contemplates the highs and lows of being Trebizon's best athlete. Joss is a character that has always fascinated me, especially since, as Rebecca correctly observed, being so good at all types of games seemed to make her a little remote from everyone else. I wanted to try and get inside her mind for a day.


A Day As Joss Vining

Joss groaned as her alarm went off. Her hand flayed wildly around in the air as she tried to switch it off as quickly as possible, not only to prevent herself from pressing 'Snooze' but also to avoid awakening any of the others in her room. Such an offence at 06:30 on a Saturday morning was unforgiveable. Pushing 'snooze' would, ordinarily, not be out of the question. Caxton's hockey pitches, where Joss's team, Clifford Cats, was scheduled to play Caxton Canons at 9am in the deciding qualifying match to enter the Davidson Cup Tournament, were situated a mere fifteen minutes drive away from Trebizon. But stealing that coveted extra half hour of sleep would throw everything off schedule. Joss's match prep schedule had been the same since she was nine years old, whether it was for athletics, tennis or hockey. Tea with lemon, a long glass of water and porridge with a banana for breakfast, a dash to change into her kit, the drive to the venue (whilst balancing whatever school prep she could on her lap) and the warm up drills with her team. Even five minutes extra sleep would throw the routine off balance and thus put her performance at risk. But that was yet another thing that Joss as a top school athlete had to worry about that no one else did. The only person who could ever hope to understand was Rebecca Mason. She sighed. Rebecca was the last person she wanted to think about today...

Shaking her head and stretching lithely, scanning her body as always for any aches and pains indicative of injury, she pushed back the covers, tugged on her dressing gown and sidled into the bathroom. Her legs were already covered in goose pimples. She hastily pulled on her tracksuit to avoid having to look at them any longer than was necessary. On the hockey pitch, tennis court or atheltics track, her legs were an asset and considered 'muscular' and 'powerful.' Elsewhere, be it in jeans, leggings or tights, they felt like a thickset heavy burden. She remembered dress shopping for Commemoration Ball in Masons with her mother, sobbing before the array of dresses that hung from the changing room rails. None of them seemed to cover her legs to enough of a degree. She still felt terrified every year that no one from Garth would ask her to dance and had, more often than she would have liked, found herself sitting in a dark corner of the table near the speaker, having claimed she was 'Just not in the mood for dancing.'

Having finished dressing, she grabbed her kitbag and made her way outside into the grounds towards Sara Willis's cottage. Halfway across, she stopped to linger, just for a moment. Her breath fogged the air as she looked at the green wire netting of the tennis courts and hockey pitches, where she'd shot countless winning goals and served goodness knows how many aces. There was Norris House, back in the distance, where she and her friends had procrastinated over prep, giggled over gossip, flipped through films and huddled together over hot chocolate. So much of her life seemed to be taking her further away from school. She let herself in at the gate and knocked on the door.

Sara Willis appeared. Although she must have risen even earlier than Joss to prepare breakfast and check the car, the only sign of tiredness she showed was her rumpled blonde hair which was, as usual, neglected when she was busy or overwhelmed.

'Morning, Joss! Come in and make yourself comfortable. Breakfast's ready! Eat up and we'll be off!' No matter how many times Joss had eaten in Sara Willis's cottage before and in spite of the easy and solicitous relationship they had on the pitch discussing teams and tactics; Joss couldn't shift an abstract feeling of discomfort at being in her house. Whilst she certainly spent more time with Miss Willis than any other Trebizon pupil and was more aware of the whispers from younger forms about her being 'the teacher's pet' she had never seen, nor would she want to see, Sara Willis as anything other than her teacher and mentor. They chatted companionably enough in the kitchen but every door of the house was closed. Joss was unsure whether she was disappointed by this. She remembered a farewell party given for the Cats' former left defence, Molly Howard, another inspiration of Joss's, who, having completed her degree, was no longer eligible to play for the club. In her farewell speech Molly had joked, 'I hope that someday I can come back here to watch my children play. Or hey, if I can't handle the real world, I can always come back and help coach!' The room had erupted with laughter but that last remark had made Joss distinctly uncomfortable. She knew from changing room gossip that Sara Willis had had the most potential and promise of any other player her age, having stormed through school, club and college season rankings. But something had happened, although no one was any the wiser as to precisely what, that had dissuaded her from turning pro and instead become a school sports teacher. Joss had never dared ask about it. But she realized then, that half her fear of asking was not the reaction from her beloved teacher, rather the answer she might give. And the one question that frightened her most of all and refused to go away... "What if that happens to me?" Was she, Joss, not tough enough for the reality of life as a pro sportswoman? Or, would she herself decide that that kind of reality was not one that she wanted? And then what would she be left with?

Twenty minutes later they were met by Joss's parents in the club car park. Joss jumped out of the car, acknowledged their good wishes with a nervous grin and ran towards the clubhouse. Her spirits lifted, as they almost always did when the modern, glass-fronted building came into sight. It was a bright, airy building with a vending machine at the open plan reception, state of the art changing rooms with showers, a cafe and a viewing gallery with a glorious view over the pitches and fields of the surrounding countryside. She signed in and ran downstairs to the changing rooms. Her teammates began to arrive in quick succession, greeting her cheerfully; squeezing her shoulder or ruffling her curly hair. They were all older than her but, although they were slightly protective of her, on the pitch she became their equal. With them, she could truly give everything she had without having to worry about taking playing time away from others or being accused to being a ball hog or a pot hunter. She wasn't deaf to those whispers either. Here, if, for any reason she made a mistake, it was called 'a rookie error.' At school there would be the inevitable raised eyebrows and comments like, 'Come on Joss, you're the best player we've got!' As they warmed up, Joss was grateful for the fast pace. Too often at Trebizon she found herself alone at the top half of the school hockey pitch with her own fitness drills laid out in a set of cones. Before she knew it, they were in formation and preparing for the bully off.

90 minutes later and it was all over. Clifford Cats were through and Joss had scored twice. Exhausted, she shook hands with her opponents, joined her team's group hug and idly wondered if there would be any reporters waiting to talk to her. She stopped abruptly. When had she come to expect that? The first time it had happened, it had been an ecstatic novelty. She'd been shaking with nerves and pride. Now, after yet another picture in the paper and another singling out at Assembly, looking around to see more and more people not even bothering to clap or look at her; it was becoming tiresome and embarrassing. Was this what happened when you turned pro? As it turned out, one was waiting for her near the goalpost.

'We're here now with Josselyn Vining, pupil of Trebizon School, star track and field athlete, tennis player and youngest member of elite university hockey club, Clifford Cats. How does it feel to have won, Joss?'

'I feel great. I'm really glad we won and I'm really lucky to be part of such an amazing team!'

After a few more questions and photos, Joss returned to the clubhouse, the adrenalin rush of the match already beginning to spiral away, leaving a bleak, exhausted greyness that would be cast over the rest of her day. Her teammates were too much older than her to spend real time with and the rest of her weekend would be taken up with homework and additional training sessions. And it would now, doubtless be the same for the next several weekends. Zipping up her tracksuit and walking out to her parents who were waiting by their car she couldn't help wonder...what had she really won? Had she won at all?


End file.
